The rest of the day was just the Doctor going there and back to check on the Master. When the Doctor had offered him tea after the potato incident, he came back with a tea cup, steaming hot. Seeing that the Master obviously couldn't pick it up and drink from it, he came up with the solution of a straw. It was a bendy straw that he'd found on earth. It was funny, with a little monkey head on it. He'd just had to buy it, novelties were one of the many things he liked to distract himself with.
Before coming back that night with dinner, he decided he would just leave the vegetable soup and spoon there and see if the Master said anything. "What, no insipid comments tonight, Doctor?"
"No." He replied simply.
"Great, just the way I like you. Pity you don't shut up nearly enough."
The Doctor didn't reply nor did his neutral facial expression falter.
"By the way, I broke your straw." He grinned and nodded to the shattered remains of a pink and green monkey straw.
He sighed in annoyance, but he'd expected it. It was gnawed on and one of the parts had probably broken from the stress. "You could have used it for the soup tonight."
"Me? Drink out of that? You must be as crazy as I am, Doctor." The Master laughed and then his face returned to a snobby set, like a child saying 'I don't wanna'. "Besides, I'm not hungry."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Now stop bothering me with your infernal questions."
The Doctor wanted to say some type of comeback, but decided to let it lie. He left the room, lips curved upwards in the slightest way.
It was much later that night at about one in the morning earth time when the Doctor was jolted awake by a horrible, loud noise. It was far away, somewhere else in the TARDIS and it took a moment for him to gather his wits and identify it as moaning or yelling…or sobbing. No, definitely not sobbing. The only other person in the TARDIS was the Master. That was crazy. Or…maybe not.
Light on his feet, head swimming from the rude awakening, the Doctor rushed through the halls. It became louder and louder as he approached the room. The lights in the halls were very dim, and when he looked in through the bars and saw the Master sprawled on his side facing the wall, shaking, he felt the breath catch in his throat.
Fumbling with the screwdriver, he unlocked the door and flew inside. Kneeling next to the incomprehensibly loud man, he gathered him up in his arms. He was sobbing in short bursts and got quieter when the Doctor held him close. He was asleep, his eyes weren't opened, just pain all across his face.
He wrapped his arms around his lower back and neck, pulling him tighter to him, trying to soothe him. "Shhh," he whispered, "It's okay." He caressed his tear stained face, trying to wipe off the salty drops.
Inside the Doctor's head it was a fury of mixed emotions. Confusion, fear and affection all at once. Why was the Master sobbing like this? What could possibly scare a madman this much? This poor man, his poor friend. His beloved friend who he would forgive and forgive.
"The Drums…" The Master both hissed and wept, "Make them stop! Make them stop…" the rest was muffled in the Doctor's nightgown sleeve.
It felt so right to have him in his arms, it was more reassuring himself than the Master he was sure. He'd been alone so long and humans never fit the part he needed. He needed another Gallifreyan, another Time Lord. Relief made its way into the embrace. "It's okay, Master, I'm here." He spoke softly. "You're here with me."
One pair of eyes shot open. Out of breath from having been screaming his throat out just the second earlier, the Master cried, "What in bloody blazes are you doing?" trying to pull away.
The Doctor didn't let him go, although released him enough to be face to face with him. "You were in here crying your eyes out." He said quietly, without jibe.
"How dare you make up such a lie!"
"I'm not lying, Master. I'm sure you can taste the tears on your face, isn't your throat burning?" The Doctor continued to use his comforting, calm voice.
The Master didn't respond for a second, wanting to deny it when the proof was there on his cheeks. "You shouldn't have come in here. Why do you even care?"
"Because I don't like to see you in pain." He pulled him in, the Master's face over his left shoulder. The Master felt surprised at how soft the Doctor was. He thought he'd be all sharp edges, he looked like just skin plastered on bones. The Doctor never had an ounce of fat on this regeneration, too skinny. But the edges smoothed out and became yielding. Despite the texture of the man, he still would show he despised him, sticking to that truth instead of any other possible alternatives.
"Funny, I like to see you in pain." The Master laughed, trying to sound triumphant, but it just came out sadly, choking on the bitter words. "They're so loud, Doctor," he whispered in a foreboding, urgent way. "Why can't you hear them? How I wish you could hear them."
"Hear what?"
"The drums." He swallowed, breathing heavily, "The drums, Doctor! They're so loud!" He yelled, furiously into the darkness, feeling the Doctor squeeze him tighter. He knew he wanted to lean into the embrace, let his muscles relax, but still remained tense, ashamed at the thought. "Let go of me." He said more weakly than he'd hoped. When he didn't get a reaction, he repeated himself, louder this time. "Let go of-"
He was interrupted by a loud rumbling for which he stopped talking. It was his own stomach, betraying him. The Master cursed without sound, feeling his body relax against his own will. His tiredness and hunger were enough to bribe his body, despite his wishes. The Doctor hugged him quickly and put him down, the Master falling over himself to recoil to the corner.
He got up and took the bowl of soup. It was lukewarm. Bringing it over carefully (noting it was untouched,) he put it down and took a spoonful of it. Carefully, he lifted it to the Master's lips and, to his relief and surprise, the Master opened his mouth.
Scoop after scoop, the Master took it, never making eye contact with the Doctor. He looked up, above them. They both kneeled in the darkness. The Master used every ounce of control he could so not to slurp or act over eager to swallow. He would not lose his dignity, however pathetic he felt. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he enjoyed this. Oh how he enjoyed this, the Doctor serving him. The Doctor serving his Master.
Soon the bowl was empty and the Master leaned back and rested against the wall. "I forgive you, you know."
The Master's solemn face dwindled away into a smirk. "I could blow up the universe and beat you to a bloody pulp and you'd forgive me." He snickered cruelly.
"That's true." The Doctor admitted.
"You're pathetic."
"You might be right."
They paused for a minute. "Now tell me the real reason you came in here." The Master asked without asking.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay. You were waking all hell." The Doctor turned to him, shadows of real worry dressing his face, "Are you okay?"
"No, I've fallen ill with a deadly plague and now I need you to spoon me cold soup out of insufferably tacky china bowls." His voice was laced with brutal sarcasm.
"Well I don't think they're that tacky. We can go shopping later, if you'd like."
"And while we're at it, let's get you a monkey suit – oh wait, you already wear one every day."
"Says the man with the black blazer and tie." From impulse alone, the Doctor leaned over and mussed the Master's hair.
The air went stone cold silent.
"Don't ever touch me or my hair. Ever." He fumed in a deadly tone.
However much it was a terrible idea, the Doctor reached over - and mussed it again.
"I will eat your hide!" The Master screamed in his loudest voice. In an almost childlike manner, the Doctor giggled, got up and ran to the other side of the bed. He'd had this coming, yet he couldn't resist. The Master dashed after him in an extremely comical way, hands behind his back. He chased him into the corner the bed was near, and the Doctor leapt over the bed. The Master followed, but fell flat on his stomach on the bed, desperately trying to wriggle around.
The Doctor waited patiently, watching him struggle, come back around and then dart to the other side of the bed, cornering him. "You've got me."
Alright, I'm stopping here because I'm afraid I'm going to go off an end that will be so out of character (as if this chapter wasn't already bad) I won't be able to get back in. SO PLEASE: tell me how OOC this was, if you want this story to just be cute or be slash and any critiques or criticisms. Thanks! Please review!